


Kill the boy

by myrish_lace



Series: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Ghost is basically a telephone here but I did what I thought was right, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Screw you D&D I do what I want, Spoilers, Spoilers through Season 7 Episode 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 09:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace
Summary: Jon communicates with Sansa through Ghost while they are separated. Jon realizes, with Sansa's help, that he needs to kill the boy and let the man be born to get off Dragonstone and back to the people he loves. (Leaving this general to avoid spoiling episode 5).





	Kill the boy

**Author's Note:**

> So I really needed Jon to comfort Sansa and talk to Arya after the debacle that was this episode. I acknowledge that using Ghost liberally to let everyone talk to each other is a plot device, but after the nonsense D&D pulled I just don't care. How dare you D&D. How dare you. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this installment!

Jon’s fingers trembled as he held the scroll Varys delivered. The man had bowed and shuffled out of the room without a word.

Sansa had been brave enough to write to him, even when he couldn’t write to her.

He stared at the direwolf impressed into the wax. On an impulse, his kissed the seal. He closed his eyes and imagined her in the Lord’s Chambers, scratching with a quill, her long hair unbound before she retired for the night. He could even see a few clouds outside her window, and Ghost curled up at her feet.

He wished he could be in those chambers with her. Hold her. Stroke her hair, pull her close, whisper that everything would be all right…

 _Jon?_ His feelings had been running strong, strong enough that he’d let his guard down. Sansa was with him, thanks to Ghost's mind.

 _Sansa_. He started to tell her he had the scroll, he hadn’t read it yet. A wave of sadness blindsided him.

Ghost was looking up at her. Her skin was blotchy from crying. His heart constricted with need, with the desire to calm her. To be there, gods damn it, by her side.

 _Sansa, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Tell me, please_.

He could see Sansa wiping tears from her eyes _Jon, I’m fine, don’t worry, I_...she started crying again.

Jon held his head in his hands. He’d steal one of the dragons if he had to. He’d steal Theon’s boat. He sent her tenderness, and devotion.

_I’ll come for you soon, Sansa, I swear it. What’s wrong?_

Sansa composed herself. He could still feel the storm churning inside her. He marveled again at her ability to keep up this front, in spite of the adversity she faced.

He sensed she needed a moment. He waited. He’d wait all night. He saw the rise and fall of Sansa’s chest. She worried at the edges of her gray dressing gown.

_There’s good news, Jon, did you receive the scroll?_

_I did. I haven’t opened it_.

 _Arya’s here. Bran’s here_.

Jon sat back, stunned. All of them, all his living siblings, at Winterfell. Arya, quick and bold. Did she still have Needle? Bran, sweet and shy - he hadn’t kept his promise, about taking him on an adventure to the Wall. He could see them, all together, if he could only leave this island behind. Warmth bloomed in his chest.

 _I’m glad you’re happy, Jon, I am too_.

 _I am, it’s incredible, better than I could have hoped, but...Is there anything else, Sansa?_ He asked gently, sent the question like a feather-light kiss in her mind. She was so distraught, he didn't want to push her.

He felt her weariness then, her loneliness.

_Arya...the Northern lords tried to give me the kingdom this morning. They’re restless. I told them you were their King, Jon and we needed to trust you._

He had tears in his own eyes now, at the faith she placed in him, at the fierceness of her loyalty. Bitter disappointment coursed through his veins. He knew staying on this island would cause her trouble, and yet here he was, trapped.

Daenerys had given him fine chambers, with bold carvings of stone dragons, high up in the castle.

A gilded cage was still a cage.

He slipped, lost control of himself. _You should be queen, Sansa, you should, I wish I could give you the title. I...thank you for still believing in me. But I’m not sure I deserve to be King._

He felt a flash of anger, enough to make him shake his head. _I don’t want to be Queen, Jon, do you understand? I don’t! I only want us all together, here at Winterfell!_

He took a deep breath. _I know that Sansa, I only meant...I hate that you have to clean up the mess I left. I knew you’d handle the North beautifully._

Sansa withdrew. Jon’s stomach twisted. He put another log on the fire, and stirred the embers. What had gone amiss? He only had himself to blame, whatever it was. He'd been away far too long. 

Sansa’s next answer was slightly more measured, but he still felt her turmoil.

 _Arya...Arya thinks I want Winterfell for myself. That I’m in the Lord’s Chamber because I like nice things.That I think I’m better than other people. But all I want is for you to come home._   _I'd sleep in the street if it meant having you back, Jon_.

Jon ran a hand over his face. Arya...perhaps Arya would be wary of Sansa at first. Sansa and Arya hadn’t been close, as children.

But if Arya thought he doubted Sansa, he wanted to put that fear to bed. Sansa deserved better.

_Can you...can you find Arya for me? Let her touch Ghost? I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her._

He felt Sansa’s conflict - hope, relief, a current of dread. _The castle’s retired for the night, Jon, I’m not sure I could._

_Sansa, please. Let me help you. Let me solve this problem for you, at least._

He watched Sansa close her eyes, and saw some of the tension leave her shoulders. He felt a glimmer of her happiness.   _All right, Jon. I’ll see if she’s still awake. I’ll bring Ghost._

The connection snapped, and there was nothing to do but wait. He paced for a few moments, then sighed. He looked at the silver tray on his table. The seared fish wasn’t going to get any fresher.

Daenerys had invited him to dine tonight, and he’d refused. He'd wanted to avoid making awkward, stilted conversation with a woman who kept him prisoner and demanded he bend the knee. But he knew that sooner or later, he’d have to sup with her. He could enjoy this meal alone, at least.

He was wiping his fingers clean when Sansa came back to him.

 _Arya’s here, Jon_.

His heart started to pound. He saw black leather boots on the floor and sensed a new presence as Arya reached for Ghost.

 _Jon!_ Arya was overjoyed...and angry. _Jon, come back! Come back home, Sansa’s ruining it, she’d ruining everything, she wants to be Queen, I hate her for it-_

Jon dropped the napkin. He was overcome with a swarm of emotions. Relief that what he felt for Arya was the pure, familial bond of brother and sister. Nothing unnatural, nothing twisted. He loved her dearly. He wanted to run to her in Winterfell’s courtyard and pick her up and spin her around, just to hear her laugh. Her presence in his mind after so many years healed a place in his heart he hadn’t known was broken. But…

There was a fury in her now, a darkness, that was foreign to him. She’d changed, somehow, in her travels. He started by conveying how much he cared about her.

_Arya, I’m so glad you’re home. I love you._

Her darkness receded, and he felt a hint of the girl she’d been. _I love you too, Jon, I...I still have Needle. Beat Brienne to a draw today._

He smiled at the pride radiating from her.

_I can’t wait to see that. I’ve got a sword now too, Longclaw, we’ll fight together. But Arya, we need to talk about Sansa._

A flash of rage again. _She’s trying to take your place Jon-_

Jon pushed back.

_She’s not. She’s not, Arya. I gave her the North. I gave her the Lord’s Chambers. She turned me down, I had to offer twice. She’s holding the North for me, because I asked her to, and because I trust her. We...we all need to trust each other, Arya, and I trust Sansa to rule for me while I’m gone._

He furrowed his brow. This was a delicate business, conveying how deep his trust in Sansa ran, while leaving out his other feelings. He poured all the faith he had in Sansa through Ghosts’ connection, willing Arya to believe him.

Ghost's head was turned in Arya’s direction, and he saw her chew her lip. When she reached back out, her anger was tempered. _I - I believe you, Jon. I do. I’m sorry. I just...I wanted to see you, when I came back. I missed you so much._

Jon breathed a sigh of relief. _I missed you too, Arya. I’ll be home soon._

He watched Arya give Sansa a hug, and rejoiced at the soft swell of affection he could sense between the sisters. Sansa’s brow was smoother once Arya left.  Sansa stroked Ghost.

She was lovely, and alone, and he yearned to be near her.

_Have you figured out a way to leave, Jon?_

_I will. Theon’s here, I’ll steal his boat if I have to._ He tried to make it seem like a jest.

Sansa was stern. _Tell me you didn’t hurt him. You swore you wouldn’t, Jon._

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. _I didn’t, Sansa_. He’d come close. Very close.

 _And you don’t have to steal his boat. You can_ take _his boat. Any boat. You’re a king, Jon, and if you’re going to come home to me you have to start believing it. You have to start acting like one._

He felt her love, and affection, and desire, pouring into him. Strengthening his resolve. Stirring his blood.

She was right.

He could be a king, for her sake.

It was time.

Time to kill the boy, and let the man be born.


End file.
